Pyro's Problem
by Danfred
Summary: Pyro goes insane. . . well, more so, over a lack of a lighter or any other means to create fire. What to do? Rated for a cuss word or two. One-shot, complete, stand-alone, whatever you want to call it.


A/N: This is the result of a silly idea I had, and in my stupidity, told Beboots about, who insisted I write it up. The title is just temporary. . . probably. Unless someone can give me a better idea for one, hint hint, it's here to stay.  
  
It's meant to be humorous, so forgive the poor writing style.  
  
Disclaimer: I, in no way, shape, or form, own anything to do with X-men: Evolution. . . damn.  
  
Summary: Pyro goes insane. . . well, more so, over a lack of a lighter or any other means to create fire. What to do?  
  
Pyro searched frantically. His messy room was made even more so by the addition of things thrown in his haste.  
  
The unbelievable had happened; St. John Allerdyce had lost his lighter.  
  
But what of those flamethrowers you ask? Well, after the second Acolyte base had been burned to the ground by a certain, shall we say. . . overzealous pyromaniac, Magneto had confiscated them. Pyro wasn't even allowed to even know where they were, let alone use them, unless they were on business.  
  
St. John gave up. He flopped down and tried to think. There were other ways to make fire, right? Then he remembered. Whenever Gambit made things explode, there was usually a lot of fire involved. He leapt up and set off to look for his Cajun team-mate.  
  
"RemyRemyRemyRemyRemyRemyRemyRemyRemyRe-"  
  
Remy Lebeau groaned as Pyro came running into his room. It wasn't that Remy thought Pyro was annoying. . . no, scratch that, Remy did find Pyro annoying. "Qu'est que c'est maintenant?"  
  
Pyro stopped and cocked his head. "Huh?"  
  
Remy sighed. "What's it now?"  
  
"I lost me lighter!"  
  
"And dis concerns me, how?"  
  
The pyromaniac outlined his plan. "You make somthin' 'splode, and then I can use the fire!"  
  
"Non."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Non."  
  
"Bu-"  
  
"I said NON! Now lemme 'lone."  
  
"Aww. . ." Pyro trudged out of the room.  
  
An hour later, Remy was heading to the kitchen for something to eat, when he heard an odd sound coming from Pyro's room. He peered in, and would have laughed if. . . no, scratch that, Remy did laugh, long and hard.  
  
Pyro was sitting in the middle of the floor, with two pieces of wood and some string. He was trying to light a fire the old fashioned way, rubbing two sticks together. It wasn't really working. He was just rocking back and forth, staring into space, rubbing them together. Nothing happened. Not a spark, not a plume of smoke, not until-SNAP!  
  
St. John stared at the broken stick in his hand. He had worn it right through until it snapped. He whimpered.  
  
"Perhaps you could go into town and buy a new lighter?" Came a deep voice from the doorway. The Russian Acolyte, Piotr Rasputin, had been standing there, unnoticed.  
  
Pyro's face lit up (figuratively ). He ran to his fire fund (money to spend on supplies) and grabbed a handful of coins and notes, then sped out of the door.  
  
Pyro felt like he was going to cry. The city had put up a no-smoking ban. Meaning no lighters for sale anywhere. Matches all gone too. How is a body supposed to light a fire in this 'burg?  
  
Waaaaaiiit a minute. What about that X-chick, the one covered in flame? Lava, or something. She could give him some fire! Pyro skipped off towards the Xavier Institute of Gifted Youngsters, never once thinking of the consequences of going to your enemies for help.  
  
Meanwhile, back at the Acolyte base. . .  
  
Remy took out a cigarette from his pocket and a book of matches, lighting up his smoke. Piotr eyed it. "Why did you not just give Pyro one of your matches?" The Cajun gave him a look. Piotr sighed. 'Stupid plotholes,' he thought.  
  
When Pyro stepped through he gate, alarms went off. The next thing he knew, he was dodging lasers, those things that looked like round saw blades, and various other weaponry. He didn't really pay attention, though. His attention was completely focused on his goal: to find something to make fire with. Namely, his fire-making enemy.  
  
Then he spotted her. At least, he thought it was her. They all seemed to look the same. She was standing with the rest of the new recruits and a few of the X-men.  
  
Amara watched as the intruder made his way over to them, either skilfully, or with just blind luck, through the defences towards them. Kitty muttered, "Pyro. He's, like, one of Magneto's Acolytes. He can control fire, but he, like, doesn't seem to have his flamethrowers with him."  
  
Jubilee squeaked. "Flamethrowers?"  
  
The intruder, now identified as Pyro, was now in front of them. He addressed Amara, sounding desperate. "You gotta help me!"  
  
Amara blinked. That she was not expecting. Anyone else would have settled for an undignified, "Huh?", but she was a Nova Roman princess! She did not stoop that low. She settled for the slightly more dignified, "What?"  
  
"You hafta make me some fire!"  
  
"Why me, exactly?"  
  
He made a face. "You're the one who can make fire, aintcha? Damn, I thought I had the right place. This is the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters, ain't it?"  
  
"Yeeeeees. . ." Amara said slowly. "So?"  
  
"I need some fire!"  
  
"Why, exactly?"  
  
He looked at her blankly. Then he started slowly, as if speaking to a child. "Me name's Pyro, that's what I do, burn stuff."  
  
"And what is wrong with lighters or matches? Why can you not use those?"  
  
"All gone!"  
  
". . .Excuse me?"  
  
Pyro took a breath. "Mags con. . . convista. . . consist. . . took me flamethrowers, m'outta lighter fluid, Remy won't 'splode somthin' f'r me, stupid no-smoking ban, no lighters to buy, and THOSE STUPID STICKS BROKE!" At the end, he was yelling and hyperventilating and looked about to cry.  
  
Amara almost took pity on him. Almost. She was about to create a small fire ball, when she remembered that he was the enemy, and what he would do should he get a hold of some fire. "No."  
  
"No?" He deflated. Then sniffed.  
  
It was then that Logan came around the corner, smoking a cigar, roused by the Institutes defences. The reason he hadn't gotten there before. . . uh. . . Sabertooth, or something.  
  
Pyro immediately homed in on the cigar. "Ooooh. . . fire!" The cigar was suddenly engulfed by a spurt of flame, which left immediately for Pyro. Said pyromaniac mutant hugged said hairy mutant. "Thanks bunches!" The acolyte then skipped off, dodging the defences, with several fires balls swirling in his wake.  
  
Everyone stared after him. Logan grunted, ". . .the hell was that?"  
  
So, there you go! Any suggestions, comments? Please leave a review on your way out of the thread.


End file.
